The Paralyzer
by WhimsicalRealist
Summary: When Franky and Robin opened up a nightclub in town, Zoro was honor-bound as a friend to pay it at least one visit. It was supposed to be a quick, in-out affair, but turned into something more... [ZoSan] Lyrics from "Paralyzer" by Finger Eleven.
1. Make You Move

**I hold on so nervously,** **To me and my drink.** **I wish it was cooling me.**

How the blue-haired bastard had managed to lure him here, he still was not sure. Sure, Zoro loved drinking and a bar was a good place to get drinks of the alcoholic sort...but this wasn't a bar. It was a dance club called The Paralyzer, which had a bar in it. So while he was trying to sulk at a table as far away from people in general, he was nursing a headache from the constant pulse of the base. No amount of hard liquor could make it tolerable to him and if he didn't feel like he had an obligation to support his friend's newest business venture, the swordsman would have been out the door about as soon as the moment he set foot inside.

"Another bottle of sake, Mister Bushido?"

He looked up, his face making no attempt to hide his contempt for his surroundings. Smiling at him knowingly was the owner's girlfriend, her sharp blue-black eyes seeming to see through his.

"May as well, maybe another one'll make this drabble likable."

"Of course. I'll be right back."

"Yeah, thanks Robin."

**But so far has not been good.** **It's been shitty,** **And I feel awkward, as I should.**

He watched her go with a lazy expression until she had vanished into the crowd, at which point he would let his gaze wander. It was a nice place and he was sure people were enjoying it but it was so far from his "scene" as they say he felt uncomfortable and outright annoyed. But it was opening night and so far Zoro hadn't had a chance to congratulate Franky in person...the man was moving around checking on people and making sure they were having a good time. As soon as he reached the swordsman, though...he decided he would make his fastest, most polite exit so he could go home and sleep.

Thoughts of escape began to wane as something caught his eye, which was surprising to say the least. A lazy brow raised as he caught a glimpse of blurred blond and blue-black on the nearest dance floor. Someone showing off, he imagined...there were too many swooning women in a throng for him to get a clear view.

Not far from them he managed to pick a few of his other friends out; seems that Nami had managed to drag Luffy away from the buffet long enough to get him to dance with her...nearby he was amused to find Usopp trying to teach some of his personal "lady-killer" moves to the easily-influenced Chopper. Zoro imagined that the young boy with a puff of brown curls was an exception the the age limit rules for the club, but that's because he was family.

A ripple of excited squeals earned an eye-twitch and the swordsman swung his annoyed gaze back to the flock near the middle. What was their deal, anyway? It took some leaning out of his chair and neck-craning, but soon enough he was able to spot the cause...it was that smart-ass cook from the fancy restaurant up the street. He'd only met the bastard recently and boy did then NOT get along. He was friends with the swordsman's friends, though, so for their sake he had to deal with the asshole.

Sanji. He snorted, eyes narrowing a bit and was about to look away, but for some reason...didn't. Yeah, the cook was showing off and the ladies loved it. Hell, even some guys were sneaking glances...Zoro among them. The swordsman had been vaguely aware that the blond had some manner of fighting skills, something to do with martial arts and only using his feet...but he wasn't aware it could just as easily be applied to dancing.

That's why most everyone else was watching, most likely. But Zoro...he watched much like an opponent might watch a rival, studying and sizing him up. His hands curled into fists on the table, reflexively itching to wrap around the hilts of his katana. The cook was agile, light on his feet, but...just watching how he could swing his legs so effortlessly, the swordsman knew he had some real power in them. Upper body strength too; the other man was thin, but it still took a lot to keep a body up in the air on one hand while spinning. Something stirred in Zoro's expression.

**This club has got to be,** **The most pretentious thing,** **Since I thought you and me.**

He could almost feel it in his hands, the shock extending down the edge of Wado to the hilt as she slammed against a steel-toed black shoe, polished nearly as meticulously as his own swords... It had been a while since he'd been able to fight anyone who could keep pace against him, especially against his swords. He could get into a fist-fight with Luffy and Franky, sure...even a paintball match against Usopp was enjoyable, but he wouldn't consider any of them able to fight against him when he was using the deadly blades. They weren't for show...they could seriously injure someone. And Zoro decided that somehow he was going to have his way and use them against Sanji. The remaining question was...how the hell would he manage to set that up?

**Well I am imagining,** **A dark lit place,** **Or your place or my place.**

"Quite the dancer, isn't he?"

Zoro nearly jumped, blinking away from watching the cook to see that Robin had returned with the bottle of sake on a tray, smiling in her ever-knowing way that drove him up a wall.

"What?"

She set the bottle down and chuckled, sitting across from him with her chin resting in one hand, much to his displeasure.

"Cook-san, of course. You were watching how he dances. I think he's quite the handsome one and will be good for drawing in more women."

The swordsman snorted, pouring himself a generous amount of the drink, eying her carefully.

"Yeah."

She studied him a moment before going on.

"You want to fight him, I imagine. Not with fists, but with your swords."

He paused with the cup almost to his lips, convinced not for the first time that Robin was a mind-reading witch with terrifying, soul-scrying eyes. To further his conclusion, she laughed.

"It's in your eyes. I've seen that look several times when I have gone with Franky to watch some of your matches. Though, it is the first time I have seen it up close and without the bandanna. You do resemble a Demon, as the nickname suggests."

Zoro smirked a bit. He was rather proud of his title: Demon Cutter Zoro.

"Not like he would , though..." he sighed, downing the cup.

"Oh, I wouldn't be so uncertain."

He stared at her in silence, expecting her to go on but she simply stood with a little nod.

"Franky should be by your table in a few minutes, then feel free to stay or leave at your leisure."

He grumbled and started on the rest of the bottle, telling himself that as soon as he spoke to the over-eager owner, he was gone. But when Franky had come and gone, the swordsman remained in his seat, watching the dance floor again.

**Well I'm not paralyzed,** **But, I seem to be struck by you.** **I want to make you move,** **Because you're standing still.**

The club eventually began to wind down and empty out. He saw Luffy leave with Nami, then Usopp and Chopper. Soon enough it was just a handful of stragglers at the bar and the music had thankfully quieted down to a sane level Zoro couldn't feel hammering in his chest.

He stood from his chair, hardly phased by the several bottles of sake under his belt. But it was late and he wanted to sleep. Giving an off-handed wave to Franky at the bar, he headed for the door, head still working in circles imagining the fight against the cook. There'd be no real winner, likely, just a general agreement to end it...but until that moment, it would be as if they fully intended the other would be bloodied and on the floor in a heap before it was over.

Somewhere between the table and the door and his thoughts, the swordsman's shoulder hit something and he was rewarded with a flash of a bright, angry blue eye.

"Oi oi, marimo, watch where you're going..." the cook spat, looking rather affronted for the collision.

"Shouldn't be in my way, then, ero-cook," Zoro snorted back, hardly amused either and quite frankly itching for a confrontation.

"In _your_ way? Tsk, I wasn't the one walking around watching my own feet...surprised you didn't get lost on the way to the door."

Zoro's glare became rather heated, something thrilled inside to find that the cook hadn't backed down and in fact, looked about as ready to kick his head in as he was to-

Damn. He didn't even have his katana with him...

"I don't have time for this...get out of my way, eyebrow."

Sanji grabbed him by the front of his shirt and the urge to break the cook's wrist like a twig didn't escape the swordsman's thoughts unpondered.

"What did you call me?!"

"I called you eyebrow!"

"Are you trying to make fun of me, you shitty idiot?!"

"So what if I am?!"

In their short time of knowing one another, the two had developed the tendency to spout off furiously over nothing for no reason whatsoever. Their friends found it amusing, total strangers ran for cover.

"I ought to kick your damn skull in!"

"I'd like to see you try that when I have my swords, you dartboard-eyebrow!"

"Then go get your damn sticks!"

Zoro had to blink at the other man for a moment before a sinister grin crawled over his lips.

"Didn't bring 'em with me, but I bet you aren't man enough to fight me anyway..."

"Ehh?! Is that a challenge?!"

Robin stepped up to them, her hands raised in a calming gesture.

"Now now boys, not inside please. If you must play, you'll need to go outside. But it _is_ late. Perhaps tomorrow afternoon would be a better idea...the park nearby?"

Zoro snorted as the cook predictably let go of his shirt to swoon over the woman. He brushed past, making a point of bumping shoulders with Sanji again.

"Doubt you'd show." he muttered with a smirk.

"Oh, I'll be there, marimo..." Sanji retorted after Robin had wandered back to the bar. "So don't sleep in and waste my time."

He was lazy heading out the door, showing no sign that the exchange had left any impact. But as soon as he was alone, he was sprinting to get back to his apartment with the looming fight putting fire in his veins and grinning like an absolute madman.

It was gonna be fun.

**If your body matches,** **What your eyes can do,** **You'll probably move right through,** **Me on my way to you.**

That night, he dreamed of sharp blue eyes and steel against black leather, bits of blond and fire, the smell of cigarette smoke and the ocean... Zoro couldn't make any sense of it other than to just assume he was excited for the fight and had it ingrained in his subconscious. Didn't hold much belief in dream interpretation, anyway.

The swordsman roused himself from bed early, despite the late night out drinking. He showered, dressed, stuffed his face with a sandwich of toast and that microwave bacon because he was likely to burn the place down if he cooked, and headed into his work-out room to get ready for the day's big event. Even if it was just a pointless brawl with some shitty cook with an infuriatingly curly eyebrow, he took it as seriously as any of his competition matches.

Warm-ups were followed by weight-lifting and finally some basic moves with his trusted katana. While anyone this day and age would seem silly to go into a fight with one sword, Zoro took things to another plane altogether by wielding three. One for each hand and one between his teeth. Sure, it kinda looked silly...borderline stupid, but damn if it wasn't effective.

The sun was crawling closer to noon when he decided he was just about ready. He carefully returned the katana to their scabbards and placed all three in his gym bag, slinging it over his shoulder as he headed out the door. It was a nice day, alright...not too hot, bit of a breeze; perfect fighting weather if he had to say. Putting a pair of headphones on, Zoro listened to his music while he casually strolled, figuring there was no rush in getting to the park.

For all he knew, Sanji had been drunk the night previous and would wake up hung-over and completely devoid of the memory of agreeing to the fight. That being a possibility, he didn't see any sense getting too excited and running all the way there only to be disappointed. He had to stop then for a moment, just standing there on the sidewalk with a brow raised at himself. Disappointed? Would he really get that worked up if the cook was a no-show? Probably not. Definitely not, why should he give a damn about anything concerning the blond? But...

Flashes of his dream came to him as he began walking again, still wearing a slightly perplexed look.

Even if he hated Sanji's guts and everything about him...how he acted around women, how he was so smug and uptight, how annoying his eyebrow was to look at, the way he always had a cigarette at the corner of his lips, how he could move so fluidly but still show off his strength, his almost impossibly long legs, the way his blue eye glinted with the same fire as his own did when-

"What?"

Zoro stopped mid-thought and questioned himself out-loud. He shook his head hard and growled, walking with a slightly faster pace. He was going to kick that stupid, shitty eyebrow's ass so hard for making think about him. And he didn't care if that concept didn't make any sort of sense...neither did them fighting in the first place. But the bastard annoyed him and if he was going to intrude on his thoughts and his dreams, he was gonna catch hell for it one way or another.


	2. On My Way To You

**I hold out for one more drink,** **Before I think,** **I'm looking too desperately.**

"Are you well, Mister Bushido?"

"Huh?"

Another night, another visit to The Paralyzer. Zoro was beginning to think there was something severely wrong with him. All he had done for the last week was get up, go to work, then blow his hard-earned paycheck on drink after drink at the dance club each night. He was so absorbed in the ritual…Robin had stopped asking if he wanted more to drink and just kept the sake coming, occasionally taking an order for something new. Nothing froofy or girly, of course…shots mostly and beer. The thing was…he didn't understand why he was doing it.

"I asked if you were well," Robin sighed with her ever-knowing smile and sharp, analyzing gaze.

"Yeah, sure. Why wouldn't I be?" he grumbled, handing her his empty glass to take the full one from her tray.

"You have not told me how things went."

"What things?"

She sat down across from him gracefully, chin in her hand as was her usual position when she either had something insightful to offer or if she simply wanted to hear a story. The swordsman could make a guess as to which it was tonight; he sighed.

"You mean the fight between me and the shit-cook?"

"Yes, I am most interested to hear how it went. Cook-san has not spoken of it to me, so I hope that you might be more divulging in the matter."

Zoro cast the dance floor a last glance before turning his full attention to the woman, somewhat begrudgingly. Blunt, rough fingers pushed through his short green hair and he closed his eyes, letting the memories of the fight wash over his mind, looking for words to explain it to her; he wasn't the best at that sort of thing, it was Usopp who could do that at the drop of the hat…even if it was all made up.

"Alright, well, it happened like this…" Zoro began.

* * *

The park was fairly quiet that afternoon…during the weekdays, it generally was. Most of the population was either at work or in school, which suited the swordsman just fine; he wasn't hoping for an audience, just a good one-on-one match. He planned on sitting in the shade of a tree to wait for the cook…at the very least, if the idiot didn't show, Zoro could at least get in a nice nap. But, much to his surprise, he spotted someone leaning against the tree he had been scoping out, hidden mostly in the shadow but he could smell the cigarette smoke wafting downwind toward him.

"Oi, I thought I told you not to keep me waiting, marimo."

Zoro sneered, setting his duffle bag on the nearby picnic table.

"Didn't set a specific time, not my fault you got here first." he shot back, unzipping the bag to retrieve his three katana.

Setting them out on the weather-beaten wood, they looked utterly pristine in comparison. Special care was given to the one held within a white sheath: Wado, the sword of his first rival and the one whom he had made a promise to that would propel him up through the professional sword-fighting league ranks all the way to the top…someday. Beside her was Yubashiri, a light, sharp blade, and Kitetsu, a lower-grade sword but it was believed to carry a curse…as if Zoro believed in those sorts of things.

The cook stepped away from the tree and into the light, the afternoon light setting his blonde hair aglow. As always he was finely dressed…probably fresh from the restaurant, if the swordsman thought about it. Black dress pants that he swore made the other man's legs look longer somehow, polished hard-toe shoes, and a blue pinstriped shirt with a crisp collar and buttoned up, tucked in and adorned with his near-constant black tie. The jacket to match the pants was folded and draped over his arm, soon joining the duffle bag on the table.

"Nice sticks," Sanji muttered around his cigarette, eyeing them with a somewhat bored expression. "Why'd you bring three?"

"Because I use three swords," he answered plainly, retrieving a black bandana from his pocket to tie around his head, casting shadows over his eyes. "That a problem, shit-cook?"

"Feh, use whatever you want," the cook snorted, casing him a glare, his deep blue showing a bit of fire in it.

Zoro nodded, fastening the three katana to his hip and regarded his surroundings…no prying eyes, a nice breeze…it was perfect. The cook finished his cigarette, snubbing it out before rolling his shoulders, foot brushing over the grass briefly as if to test it…too wet and he'd have trouble keeping his footing. But he seemed to find it acceptable because he turned attention to the swordsman then.

"Well, let's have at it, then…" he drawled. "I want to see if what the others say is true."

* * *

Robin listened with her curious blue eyes reading every passing facial flinch and flicker in the swordsman's eyes. Something about the event had obviously changed something in him…he seemed restless to her, as if his new habits were not an already obvious hint to this. He came to their dance club every night, despite not liking to dance or the music. He would sit in the dark underside of the stairs and broodingly watch the dance floor, like a tiger crouching in the brush, stalking its prey.

She could imagine what that prey was…prey that for some reason, was not showing up. Ever since the fight, Robin had not seen the blonde. At first she thought nothing of it, as his restaurant was often busy this time of year. But now it seemed almost deliberate. And this fact seemed to annoy the green tiger under the stairs. He had gone quiet, lost in thoughts of the fight judging by how his hands curled around the absent katana, eyes dark even without the aid of his bandanna…the demon-look. It chilled her a bit to see this close, but if only because it made him seem so hungry…

"How did the fight turn out?"

Zoro blinked, the demon fading back into the depths of his green eyes.

"No one won, really…we just kinda wore out and called it, mutually." he murmured, his expression quickly becoming its usual lazy again.

Robin nodded, having read what she needed between his spoke description as easily as if she'd been watching a movie play out in the man's eyes.

It had been a rough fight, neither of the two men holding anything back. She stood, gathering up her tray and turned to head back to serving her guests, leaving Zoro to fall back into the memories that would replay themselves over and over, especially when he slept…

Zoro was thankful for her departure. While explaining the basics of how the fight had gone, he was at a complete loss as to how to accurately describe what had really happened. He closed his eyes and let the images surface…broken, bright flashes that all melted together into something he could not fully grasp.

Some details were so sharp…even in the club amid all the moving bodies and perfumes and sweat, he could feel his own heart beating in his chest, hear the thump of another…smell smoke and ocean and some sort of fancy shampoo…maybe it was an aftershave? Flickers of blue and gold-yellow tugged at the corners of his eyes, the shudder of impact he could feel even then in his teeth as an echo of when steel-toe had struck shatteringly against the length of Wado…

It haunted his dreams and nagged at him throughout the day. The swordsman growled at the dance floor before returning to his drink…it was pissing him off. He wanted to understand it, why his mind was so wrapped up in recalling every damn detail it could of not really the fight, but of the cook himself. How he looked, how he moved…

**But so far has not been fun.** **I should just stay home,** **If one thing really means one.**

Women did not particularly appeal to Zoro, if he ever bothered to let his mind linger on the concept. It wasn't often, but for some reason swam into his mind as he was sitting there. He was friends with two women, Nami and Robin. One was a mind-reading witch, the other was…well, in nice terms, a money-loving thief-harpy with outrageous concepts of interest on owed debts. So his view of the "fairer sex" wasn't that high. Sure, they were good friends and sometimes a few were good in a fight…like her…but more often than not he found them to be shallow, greedy, and far too soft. Nothing in that appealed to him, not that he had the time to be troubled with things like that anyway. He had a promise to keep and he wasn't going to stop until he was the best.

But this…obsession. He couldn't find another word for it; for whatever reason, Zoro found himself clinging on to every detail he could about the meeting, the fight, the cook himself…and it both confused and pissed him off. What business did that asshole have being so prominent in his thoughts and making him come to the stupid club to wait around for him? The swordsman knew it was a completely irrational urge, but he couldn't fight it. He could either sit up all night at his house, restless and pacing, or come here and at least drink and try to figure it out. Not that he was getting anywhere with that…the shit-cook wasn't even there, not since the first night. And for some reason, that was pissing him off too.

**This club will hopefully,** **Be closed in three weeks,** **That would be cool with me.**

One of the nights he'd pondered if the club was doing well enough to keep afloat. He vaguely recalled Franky complaining about the finances behind getting it going. Maybe it would last another few weeks, but for all Zoro cared for the trouble it'd caused him, it could go under and have to close and that'd be just fine with him. He could stop showing up to lurk under the stairs, watching the dance floor as if he was waiting for…

What was he waiting for, anyway? Was he really just coming to the club to see if the cook would show up? Why the hell would it matter if he did or didn't? He was just some woman-worshiping asshole who could go toe-to-toe against the swordsman while he was using his swords…did he want to fight him again? Was that it? Maybe…he was pretty good, the way he could leap and swing his legs and block the shining arc of a katana, contort his frame in ways he'd not thought possible…

**Well I'm still imagining,** **A dark lit place,** **Or your place or my place.**

A few times he considered just going to the restaurant and confront the cook there. But either he wrote it off or just got partway to the damn place and found out that it had moved. That always annoyed him when the streets changed or whole buildings were gone altogether. So he'd given that up pretty fast…besides, he shouldn't have to track him down anyway. Zoro would just sit and wait…patiently impatient.

**Well, I'm not paralyzed,** **But, I seem to be struck by you.**

It was a strong feeling, whatever it was. He was connected to the cook, like it or no. Sanji pissed him off to no end but he couldn't get the stupid blonde out of his thoughts or his dreams and it boiled his blood. The only way he could deal with that was to fight again…

**I want to make you move,** **Because you're standing still.**

But fighting the cook again…wouldn't that only make the whole mess worse? Another fight could only sharpen the images, make them more vivid to the point that dreams would be so close to the real thing…was this what drugs were like? To become so hooked, that only more could ease the itch…only to make the need stronger, needing more to ease that heightened urge.

**If your body matches,** **What your eyes can do,**

Sharp blue eyes flickered in the back of his mind and Zoro tried to drink them away. In the fight, he recalled glimpsing briefly the other of the cook's eyes that was usually hidden under of a curtain of blonde locks. Being able to see them both…so sharp and harsh like waves breaking on rock, full of concentration and resolve…he was almost amazed by how someone who was generally cool and smooth and an all-around lady killer could be riled up and keep pace against the swordsman.

If he wanted to be honest with himself, he wanted to see them again. See the lazy calm blue darken into a hurricane and lose himself in the storm, blades drawn and thrown against the other man as his own tornado of force. Almost immovable against one another…an opponent unlike any he'd ever fought before.

**You'll probably move right through,** **Me on my way to you.**

He'd nearly broken another glass how tight he was holding onto it, setting it down before he did with a disgruntled sigh. There was no chance of it happening anytime soon…especially if he wasn't even showing up at the club. Zoro was starving for more…even just a glimpse of the idiot would do. He would watch the floor and see just a flash of blue shirt or blonde hair, only to scowl at finding it was some woman or another man that wasn't the cook.

And even if he did show, Zoro would have to go out of his way to pick another fight. It's not like he could ask for another match, they weren't close friends; hell, seemed that whenever they were within speaking distance, they spat the worst words at each other that would make a nun faint. That worked for him, especially if it could lead to a real, physical fight…he wanted it so bad, he was starting to taste the leather of Wado on his tongue despite the burn of a long gulp of rum.

**Well, I'm not paralyzed,** **But, I seem to be struck by you.** **I want to make you move,** **Because you're standing still.**

So wrapped up in his thoughts, he nearly fell out of chair when out of the corner of his eye he spotted the object of his obsessions making chatter with the tall, lanky bouncer at the door, Brook…Zoro was fond of the man, but the huge afro atop his head just seemed so odd to him. Not that he could talk much. He cursed at himself as he felt his heart skip a beat in his chest.

Sanji was dressed a bit different then last he'd seen the man, less like he'd just come from work and more like he intended to be at the club. Short-sleeved shirt unbuttoned slightly, untucked from his knee-length pants. The swordsman watched from his shadowy little table, tense and narrow-eyed; the tiger at last caught sight of the fox he'd been hunting.

**If your body matches,** **What your eyes can do,** **You'll probably move right through,** **Me on my way to you.**

Before he could even start formulating any semblance of a plan, let along act on it, several girls seemed to pick up on the Prince's presence and were flocking over to him…Zoro couldn't help but feel his heart sink, yet another odd sensation he would have to kick the cook's ass because. Grumbling, he tore his gaze away to glare at his empty glass…where the hell was Robin, he needed another.

They would continue mobbing around the man until it was time to go. Hell, he would probably pick on of the cuter ones to take back to his apartment and…

"Ah, there you are Cook-san," Robin called from her perch at the bar, smiling with a demure little wave.

"Robin-chwan~"

Zoro snorted as he heard the other man swoon and make his way over to the blue-eyed woman at the bar, lavishing praise upon her until Franky showed up to scold him trying to butter up his girlfriend. But the swordsman watched with some mild interest as Robin leaned in to whisper something to the cook, which resulted in a perplexed look and a quite conversation went on. He couldn't help but be curious what was being said.

**I'm not paralyzed,** **But, I seem to be struck by you.** **I want to make you move,** **Because you're standing still.**

What Zoro didn't realize was that it had been quite deliberate. Robin had knowingly drawn the cook away from the throng of girls, who had dejectedly returned to the dance floor after seeing their Prince go to speak with the sharp-eyed woman at the bar that they knew could always summon his attentions. The conversation was more a diversionary tactic on her part: as soon as enough time had passed in her opinion she gave the cook's cheek a pat and gestured for him to head on to the floor with a little knowing nod.

The cook casually headed toward the crowd, melting into it and soon had thrown himself into the music, moving his body and legs so passionately that Zoro almost couldn't stand watching…his hands closed into fists on the table and his teeth ground slightly. He wasn't a dancer…but hell if he didn't want to go out there then and…he shook his head, not even sure what it was he wanted to do. He couldn't fight here, obviously. But those twists and how easily he could swing his hips, the center of his power that rolled down along those long legs…something constricted the swordsman's heart and he glared back at his empty shot glass.

**If your body matches,** **What your eyes can do,** **You'll probably move right through,** **Me on my way to you.**

He couldn't stay here. His chest was too tight, it was too hot and loud and his head was a throbbing mess. Time to get the hell out of here, Zoro decided as he stood from the table, swaying just a bit under the effect of the alcohol. Leaving his tip on the table under the glass, he started trying to pick his way carefully through the crowd to get to the door. It seemed way too far away and hardly visible above the jumping, squirming mass of people…did it move? Maybe it was behind him…to the right more?

**You'll probably move right through,** **Me on my way to you.**

No, this was definitely wrong. So very, very wrong and definitely not the way to the door. Somehow in his quest for the exit, Zoro had lost his way and ended up among the throng right in front of the dj's stage. His eyes almost swum from how loud the music was there and he was all the more determined to get out of damn club. But as fate would have it, as he turned to try to locate the elusive door, he came face-to-face with the somewhat red-faced and sweaty cook. Green eyes met blue for a moment and Zoro cursed as his heart stopped.

Nothing was said. It wasn't necessary. Despite the setting, the swordsman could see it: the hurricane, the turbulent ocean that raged in the cook's very soul. What was it called…something about blue. All Blue. That was it…Zoro could see it right there in Sanji's eyes when he was like this, when he moved his body all-out, be it dancing or in a fight. A dream burning so close to the surface, he had to wonder if that's how he himself seemed to others when he was fighting, hands tight around loyal leather handles, katana shimmering in silver arcs…

"Oi…" the cook broke the awkward silence, the music throbbing around them…it had switched into a pulsing version of the song the club was named after, driving the crowd wild.

But Zoro moved, pushing past the blonde and was desperate to escape, to get the hell away from the music, the movement, the raging waves and passion he so wanted to be lost into…it was too much and he couldn't stand being denied what he wanted while it was right there in front of him.

**You'll probably move right through,** **Me on my way to you.**

Time seemed to stand still as the swordsman felt cool fingers wrap around his wrist slowly before they tightened in a surprisingly tight grip…he couldn't remove it no more easily than if someone were to try wrenching one of his katana from his own hand. Zoro could feel every rough, callused part of the cook's hand…made sense, considering how much he used them to propel himself and used them in the kitchen.

As time returned to normal, Zoro turned to look at Sanji questioningly, too surprised at the moment to be angry about being restrained. He blinked, further dumbfounded as he found a coy grin pulling at the blonde's lips.

"Stay."

It was a simple request…no, more a command. One that Zoro didn't think he could disobey…didn't think he wanted to, either. So he gave in and let himself be swept up in the storm, let it paralyze him and drag him under.


End file.
